chicken.’
‘Tempting.’ I can feel myself salivate at the thought. ‘But no, I really have to work and I’m not ready to socialize yet. Soon, I promise. Please don’t stop asking.’
‘I won’t.’ She steers me into the garage shop and again, I breathe deep to combat the smell of fuel outside. ‘Salt-and-vinegar crisps,’ she tells the guy at the till. ‘A big bag. A big bag with lots of little bags, you know the type?’
Seb, as his badge reveals he’s been named, looks at Sylvia like she’s a lunatic. ‘You need a supermarket for multi-bags,’ he says, already bored.
‘Well, just fill a plastic bag with as many little bags as you can.’ She rolls her eyes at me.
I’m not even sure I want crisps any more. I shiver, pray I’m not coming down with something.
‘Have you noticed?’ Sylvia asks.
‘What?’ I remove my purse from my pocket, get it ready for Seb as he’s done exactly what Sylvia asked.
She tugs on my cotton jacket. ‘It’s mid-October. The trees will soon be bare. Evenings will be dark, the sun shielded by dense layers of cloud, not to be seen again until springtime. It’s cold out there.’ She speaks as if she’s in a Shakespearean play; makes the word ‘cold’ sound very long and very loud.
I shudder on cue and nod. ‘Note to self. Summer jackets to be put away.’
‘Warm jackets to be worn on late-afternoon jaunts for crisps …’
Walking back, she makes me laugh with stories of the kids and Nigel; when we stop outside the house, Ted does an enormous circular crap right in the centre of my driveway. Sylvia scoops it up into a plastic bag and asks me if I want her to let it harden a little and send it to Adam. ‘Shit for a shit.’ She shrugs. ‘Seems reasonable …’
I don’t disagree. After hugging her goodbye, I’m soon back in the kitchen, tearing open a bag of crisps. And there, on my own, the dark night drawing in, I turn the thermostat up, throw a cardigan from a pile of washing around me. I flick the tiny kitchen television into life with the remote and scroll through channels until I find a rerun of Game of Thrones. Leaning on the worktop, I lick my salty fingertips, as Catelyn Stark tells me, her face grave, that ‘Winter is Coming.’
‘Why are you still wearing your ring?’
I stop twirling it around my finger and look at Matt. ‘I’m a married man until Beth tells me otherwise,’ I say.
‘Do you think she will?’ Matt keeps glancing at the clock on the meeting room wall. I’m sure he’s trying diversionary tactics, rather than discussing the more immediate elephant in the room.
‘Forget my wedding ring, Matt. We need to figure out our response. They’ll be here in forty minutes.’
He’s nodding, biting his bottom lip, and I can tell he’s worried. Matt and I go way back to university days and I first saw him chew his lip when Shelly Lewis dumped him. I stare at him, can practically hear his brain whirring, and Shelly Lewis pales into insignificance as the reality of the Granger brothers, our largest single family account, potentially sacking us, dawns.
‘Look,’ he offers, ‘we directly advised them, yes. They’ve lost a shitload of money, yes. Of course they’re not happy. Shit, I’m not happy.’ He runs a hand over his head of thinning hair. ‘We did our due diligence. The fund seemed right. But, there is something else.’ Matt is now standing and staring out of my office window.
I hear laughter in the corridor outside but, for some reason, I can feel my stomach sink.
He turns slowly. ‘I need you here for the meeting today, obviously, we’ve got to face them together about this latest dip, but they’ve asked for you to be removed from the account. There, I’ve said it – there’s no easy way.’
I know my face is scrunching as I process what he’s just said. The Granger brothers want me off the account. That can’t be right. I brought the Granger brothers to the firm. I discovered the family business, nurtured them and have looked after them for the last God-knows-how-many years. ‘I don’t understand—’
He interrupts. ‘Yes, you do. You’ve had your eye off the ball for months now. I’ve made allowances, everyone has, but this – ’ he raises his hands to the heavens – ‘this midlife crisis, or whatever it is, has made you lose your edge. You just don’t seem to care?’
‘I care.’ I feel my neck redden under my shirt collar and loosen my tie automatically. ‘Of course I care. I can’t believe you’re saying this and saying it now.’ I jab a finger at my watch, indicating we have even less time to figure out what to do about the Grangers. I ignore what he’s said for a minute. ‘Will they sack us?’ I ask.
‘I think so, I don’t know …’
I’m baffled. ‘They’re almost thirty per cent of our business.’ My voice is almost a whisper.
‘I know that.’ Matt removes his glasses, rubs both his eyes with a forefinger and thumb.
‘And what? You blame me? They blame me? The markets aren’t my fault.’
‘I know that too.’ He raises a calming hand. ‘They know that, but they also know you’ve been away with the fairies during meetings, and now with this … They need a scapegoat.’
‘And I’m it. Adam and his midlife crisis, eh? How convenient.’ I stand up and take my jacket from the back of my chair.
‘Where are you going?’ His voice raises a notch when he sees me head for the door.
‘You don’t need me. They want me off the account. I’m sure you’ll handle it from here.’
‘Do not walk out, Adam.’
I slam the door for added effect and Jen, who’s sitting in reception, averts her eyes. I ignore Matt calling my name and press the button for the lift. Taking deep breaths, I process the facts. We’ve probably lost thirty per cent of our business. I’ve played a part in that. I lean a hand on the mirrored wall of the lift, breathe slowly, in and out. Everything is falling apart. Exiting the lift, I do what any man in that position would. I call Emma.
As I drive to Weybridge for what will probably be the second row of the day, I’m calm. After a steak sandwich in the White House, followed by a soothing massage to ‘release the stress knots’ in my shoulders, followed by sex – yes, I’m calm. The wrestling session has left me exhausted but I’m calm. And shallow. Shallow enough to need sexual release when everything is going to rat-shit. Shallow enough to keep going back to Emma since she’s the only one who seems to think I’m incredible.
My phone pings a text from Matt. ‘Call me. Urgent.’
I dial the number via the Bluetooth connection.
‘About time,’ he says almost instantly. ‘Where have you been?’
I
